


when whispers become screams

by Nerd_of_Camelot



Series: Catharsis [3]
Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Author Projecting onto Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne is Trying, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Crying, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Other, Psychological Trauma, Psychosis, Raven (DC) is a Good Friend, Schizophrenia, back at it again with the self-projection, dunno, no beta we die like robins, not related to others in this series, or well uh maybe a more accurate tag would be, what was the trauma? good question
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26101498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot
Summary: Dick had gotten used to the whispering years ago.He had gotten used to seeing things too.He curled tighter, now, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Raven, Roy Harper & Jason Todd
Series: Catharsis [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712026
Comments: 2
Kudos: 95





	when whispers become screams

**Author's Note:**

> Stress and trauma can make the symptoms of schizophrenia increase in severity either temporarily or indefinitely. Since I've been having a Time™ lately and have been having some symptom flare-ups, this exists now.
> 
> Solely for the sake of reference, Dick as presented in this work has paranoid schizophrenia.
> 
> This fic isn't related to the other two works in the series but this series is where self-projection fics go.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dick had gotten used to the whispering years ago.

It wasn’t always there. It wasn’t even there more than a couple of times a week.

But it was a frequent enough occurrence that he eventually got used to it.

He couldn’t usually make out what was being said, and that made them a lot easier to adapt to and ignore. Sometimes he heard his name, or caught a snippet of what was being said, but usually it was just indistinct, distant whispers. Like someone carrying on a conversation in another room, just within earshot but not close enough to clearly understand.

He had gotten used to seeing things, too.

He saw things even less often than he heard things, and at first it had been worlds more unsettling to catch sight of something ducking out of his view every time he turned his head, or someone staring at him from across the room and not being there when he blinked and looked at them. But eventually it became just another facet of his life.

Just another thing that came around after his parents died, as far as he knew, although he guessed it was possible that it had always kind of been there, just maybe less intense or less noticeable because he had so many things he enjoyed occupying his time with, or because he was still young enough and innocent enough to believe in imaginary friends.

His eventual falling out with Bruce at 14 had spun it all into overdrive, for a while―he could barely go an hour without hearing or seeing something, and he got so horribly paranoid and outright scared for his own safety that he was forced to squeeze his eyes shut and cover his ears and  _ cry. _ But it had eventually leveled back out to something he was used to, and he left it alone to the best of his ability. Went back to ignoring it.

He’d had other flare-ups like that in the time since then. Other times where for a few minutes or a few weeks or even a few months, everything was just  _ more _ and it was horrible. Being Batman had been the worst by far. He hadn’t gotten so much as a break from seeing or hearing things the whole time.  _ Months _ of constant hallucinations, of nightly breakdowns, of laying in bed paralyzed with fear...

Horrific.

That was a couple of years ago, now.

A couple of years and in the meantime he’d more or less experienced his regular bullshit―whispering, the occasional flicker of movement across his vision or flickering lights.

He curled tighter, now, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut.

This was not the normal level of bullshit, and he wished he could say he didn’t know why everything was so much worse right now. He wished he could just say he didn’t know and move on. But he knew, and that was more frustrating than not knowing, because if he  _ knew _ it made him feel like he should also know how to make it not feel so horrible. But he didn’t.

He bit back a whimper, shuddering hard.

He was laying in his old bed in the Manor, staying here tonight only because Bruce had deemed it safest to keep all of them here. Raven was in one of the spare rooms, Tim and Damian were here, even  _ Jason _ and  _ Roy _ were here. All down the hall from him. Raven was at the very end and Jason’s room was right against his bathroom wall. And that was cool, that was fine. They were here and they were safe and that was good. Better than not knowing where they were, for sure.

But also.

Bad.

_ Bad bad bad. _

Too close.

He suppressed another whimper, but only barely, feeling his breathing pick up as soon as he felt he wouldn’t make a noise if he breathed. Each breath shuddered out of him and his eyes were wet and―

He wrenched his hands off his ears and sat upright, one hand jerking up to scrub the tears from his face, the other prying sweat-slicked hair off of his forehead and carding through it. Not gently. Not gently at all. He pressed to hard,  _ scrubbed _ too hard, pulled too hard. But whatever. Whatever. It was fine.

He sucked in a harsh breath.

Forced his eyes open.

Room was dark, and it had been far too long since he lived in here. Since he did more than use this room as storage. It didn’t  _ feel right. _ It didn’t feel―

Safe. He wasn’t safe.

Something was in here. Something was in here and it was going to  _ get  _ him.

Needed to leave. Needed to get somewhere safe.

Somewhere safe.

Safe.

He stumbled off the bed, yanking his blanket off with him and jerking it up around his shoulders as he made for the door. He had to try and be quiet. Quiet. Didn’t want to wake anyone up. Didn’t want to alert anyone to what was going on.

No, no.

Not safe.

He pulled his door open with shaking fingers and padded down the hall as fast as he could without running or sliding across the floor in his socks. The blanket hissed along on the floor behind him and it made his skin crawl to hear it.

_ “Going?” _ One of the little voices mumbled,  _ “Running?” _

_ “Where to?” _ Uttered another,  _ “Where to?” _

He shuddered and he knew better than to respond.

He hustled down the stairs. Half-jogged until he reached a little sitting room in the back of the house, one that was left primarily untouched even now. One that had always felt safe. It was pitch black when he pried the door open, and he saw shapes moving in the darkness, but―but no. There was nothing in here to hurt him. He was safe. This room was safe.

He stepped in hesitantly, regardless. The darkness was swallowing him, he felt choked. He swallowed down a noise, creeping through the darkness with his eyes tightly closed. Felt the wall with his hand. Crept along the wall until he felt curtains. Slowly pulled them open and slowly peeked his eyes open. Moonlight. Not pitch black anymore.

He pulled his cover tighter around his shoulders, hunching it up and then creeping slowly to the next window. His hands were trembling but he felt safer than he had in his room.

_ “Footsteps,” _ A voice uttered.

_ “Footsteps?” _ Another inquired, as if unsure.

He shook. No way of knowing if the footsteps were real. If someone was actually coming this way. He pulled the last set of curtains open and picked his way to his favorite spot―in the corner furthest from the door, boxed in by a couch on one side and a table on the other, with a tall lamp sitting in there too. He crawled over the arm of the couch into the little hidey hole and slowly pulled his blanket in with him. Wrapped himself up tightly and curled up, laying his head against the wall. Closed his eyes.

There were still footsteps.

Not any of his brothers’, though, nor Roy’s, nor Raven’s, nor Bruce’s or Alfred’s. He didn’t know them, and they paced quietly back and forth outside the sitting room’s closed doors.

He took a deep breath.

Safe.

Safe, here.

_ “Safe?” _ It sounded mocking.

He saw a shadow move, and he instinctively squeezed his eyes closed so he wouldn’t see it anymore. He pulled the cover up, arranging it in the closest approximation of a hood that he was able to―he couldn’t cover his face entirely or he’d feel like he was suffocating and overheating. He sucked in a breath.

No good.

Still shaking.

Footsteps still pacing.

Safe, but not safe.

Safe, but for how long?

Safe, but only if the doors were closed and nothing saw him.

He held back the building sobs and whimpers a little while longer, not wanting to draw attention to himself, but… Well. There wasn’t much to be done. He couldn’t hold it back forever.

So, eventually, he broke down and it was all he could do to shove his face into a balled up section of blanket to try and muffle himself. He sobbed so hard it made his chest heave and his stomach roll. So hard he almost started coughing.

He didn’t know how long he cried.

There was no way and, really, no need to keep track.

All he knew was that he eventually stopped, and by then he felt  _ horrible. _ More physically than anything else.

There weren’t footsteps anymore, and the whispers were back to being distant and indistinct. He knew they’d be back, though―he knew when it got this bad it was never a one time thing. This was just the first. He’d have to hope there wouldn’t be very many of them this time around.

When he finally lifted his head to pry it out of the still damp fabric of the cover, he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of light. He peeked them open, slowly, and―yeah. That was the sun. How long had he been here? Would he be able to go about his business today? Could he get back to his room? Would anyone notice?

Had anyone noticed he wasn’t in his room?

His stomach rolled, nervous, and he decided he was just going to stay right here. All day, if necessary. At least until he was sure he wasn’t going to lose his shit at the slightest inconvenience or the smallest line of questioning toward where he had been and what he was doing. Would it worry Bruce? More likely than not.

But that was fine.

He could apologize later.

He shifted his tingling legs out from under him and got comfortable.

The whispering faded off, gradually, and he stayed there just breathing.

It would come back. It always did.

But for now he had silence, save for the distant sounds of birds outside the window behind the couch. He would take what he could get.

He didn’t want to end up having an episode like this in front of someone. He didn’t want anyone to see him acting that way. Out of the moment, he knew it was irrational. He knew nothing he was seeing or hearing was real, and the way he was behaving wasn’t… Well. It wasn’t that he didn’t react to it in a reasonable way, it was just that he knew it wasn’t real and he really felt like he should be having less of a reaction. He was trained for frightening situations. He should be better prepared.

Not that it ever mattered, once things got bad. All the preparation in the world went right out the window at the slightest hint of that all-consuming paranoia that he was in danger along with a too-clear voice whispering at him.

He may have dozed off, or may have simply gotten lost in his thoughts, because the next thing he heard was one of the doors to the sitting room opening, and by that point the light in the room had turned from the bluish gray of sunrise to something more yellow. That was odd―this room was totally unused. No one but him ever came in here. The others forgot it was even  _ here _ half the time, what with the huge living room and the ballroom and the dining room and the… Well. Every other room in the house, really.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek, curling tighter as silently as he could.

Soft footsteps entered the room, and he relaxed only fractionally when he recognized them as Raven’s.

They approached his hiding spot with too much accuracy, but he wasn’t surprised she knew exactly where he was. She came to a stop in the corner of the couch and the table, looking down on him where he still sat curled up against the wall. She did not look surprised, nor judging, thank God, and even more thankfully she did not look sympathetic―merely understanding.

“Rough night?” She asked, taking a seat on the couch but maintaining eye contact.

He only nodded―though he’d never told her about any of it, she knew all too well that sometimes things got… Very hard for him. Sometimes he was just  _ different _ for a while and then he’d eventually be fine again. She could feel the turmoil almost as well as he could, after all, so there was no use denying it at any point in the past, and even less point  _ now _ when they’d known each other for so long that she could have seen through the lie even without her powers broadcasting his emotions to her.

“You weren’t in your room and you left the door open,” She finally intoned, “So Bruce got worried. It wasn’t until I told him you were still in the Manor that he seemed any less…  _ Panicky.” _ And, feeling the guilt that lanced through him, she waved a hand, “Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong, Dick… Though I imagine a warning of some kind would have been appreciated, I somehow doubt you had the presence of mind to have thought of that.”

“Not really,” He managed, wincing at the way his voice cracked. “Talking to anyone was the last thing on my mind, let alone writing a note of some kind.”

She hummed in understanding, and finally moved her gaze to the rest of the room. He knew she must have something else to say, but… She didn’t. She merely observed the room. So he observed her.

Finally, mouth pulling slightly at the corners, she said, “You were scared. I don’t know why and I don’t expect that you’ll tell me, but may I at least ask why  _ here?” _

He considered it, rolling it over in his head a moment. “... No one comes here,” He finally admitted, “And it always felt…  _ Safe.” _

She seemed to consider that, then nodded her understanding.

Dick swallowed.

“... I,” He began, and a shudder went through him at the thought of telling her the truth. Of admitting he was  _ hallucinating _ last night and the early parts of this morning. But if he didn’t tell Raven,  _ couldn’t _ tell Raven, then who could he tell? And if he didn’t tell Raven, how would he ever know if there was something that could be done about it?

She was looking at him again, now, brow quirked somewhat. Asking silently what he was going to say, because he’d trailed. Like she usually did.

And… God.

If he couldn’t tell her, then  _ who? _

“I was hallucinating,” He managed, voice weak and cracking and he hated it, but he’d  _ said it. _

He’d said it.

For the first time ever he’d said it out loud to someone else. He’d admitted it.

It was equal parts freeing and  _ horrifying. _

And, for her part, Raven didn’t really react as strongly as he expected. She looked taken aback for a moment, eyes widening, brows lifting, but then her expression had morphed to one of something closer to horrified realization, then one of total, though unhappy, understanding.

“Yeah?” She asked, instead of actually prying too hard.

“Yeah.” He confirmed, and cleared his throat. “... Not for the first time. Definitely not the last either. I―” A cough, “I felt like something was  _ in there _ with me. And it feels safe in here. So I came in here.”

“Have you told Bruce about this?” She asked, and her tone and face said she knew the answer but wanted to be sure.

He shook his head. Breathed a weak laugh.

“I’ve barely even been able to acknowledge it to myself when it’s not happening, Rae. You’re the first… You’re the first person I’ve ever told.”

“Ever.” She said, and it wasn’t a question. “... How long has this been happening?”

“Since my parents died,” He admitted, trying for a shrug, “... Maybe before that. I don’t really remember, I just know it was bad for a while after that.”

She was silent, looking away with that ‘gears-turning’ sort of face he knew all too well. She was hunting back through the time she’d known him, comparing his feelings. Trying to figure out how many of his “rough nights” in the past had been him hallucinating and terrified out of his wits as a result but unwilling and unable to ask anyone for help.

He shuddered again. Pulled his cover in tighter.

But it…

It was better if she knew, right?

It was better that  _ someone _ knew at all?

Finally, looking back to him with her brows drawn, she uttered, “All those times in the tower…?”

Feeling embarrassed and ashamed and scared, he looked away, but nodded.

When he was able to convince himself to look at her again, even just out of the corner of his eyes, she was giving him that sympathetic look he’d been dreading. But it didn’t feel as bad to see it as he had expected.

“... Do you want me to take you up to your room so no one sees you?” She finally asked, “Because if you do, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Considering it, and thinking about his options otherwise, he slowly nodded.

She smiled, soft and warm, and stood, offering him a hand.

He rose shakily, blanket still wrapped around him, and took her hand. The shadows rose as well, closing around them, and then they were in his room and Raven was gently nudging his door shut with her foot.

He stood for a moment, somewhat disoriented, and slowly let the blanket fall from his shoulders, letting most of it pool on the edge of his bed and the floor below. He still felt terrible, physically, and that was in equal parts due to his crying fit and the nausea brought about by all the emotion involved in telling Raven about the fact that he frequently hallucinated. He felt drained and he wasn’t sure how much of that was the emotions and how much was the fact he’d been awake for at least the last twenty-four hours. He’d bet that it was pretty much 50-50 as well, though.

He swallowed, watching Raven, and Raven watched him in turn.

He chewed on his lip.

Scratched his arm and realized with a start that it  _ hurt. _ A glance down proved he’d scratched the inside of his left forearm pretty much raw. He must have done that last night, but it was hard telling when. It could have been at any point after the paranoia set in.

He quickly checked his right arm and found it in pretty much the same condition.

Wincing less from any pain or discomfort and more from knowing that was going to be hard to cover up without long sleeves, he crossed his arms over his stomach and rubbed at the outsides of his arms instead.

Raven’s eyes were a little sharper now.

“Dick,” She finally said, “Maybe you should tell Bruce about this.”

“No!” He immediately replied, a spike of panic hitting him  _ hard _ somewhere near his solar plexus and making his eyes go wide, arms jerking away from his middle instantly.

Raven looked… Mostly taken aback by the outburst.

He  _ felt _ a little taken aback, but mostly he just felt panicky.

He couldn’t tell Bruce. He  _ couldn’t. _ What if―

What if he put him in Arkham? What if he disowned him? What if he―

“Dick,” Raven stepped closer, but didn’t touch him even if she had her hands up as if she’d initially intended to, and her voice was soft and patient and, “Breathe, Dick.”

His body sucked in a breath in response instantly.

“May I touch you?" She asked, gently, without moving.

Managing a nod, he tried to pull another breath. But it―he  _ couldn't _ tell Bruce. Too many variables, too many bad outcomes, too―

Raven's hands landed softly on his shoulders and his mind ground, temporarily, to a complete halt. Everything went still and silent and he was able to pull one, two, three deep breaths. Four deep breaths.

"You don't have to tell Bruce," Raven soothed, "But can you tell me why you're so scared to?"

Five deep breaths.

Six, seven, eight deep breaths.

"I don't― I don't wanna…" He struggled, brain clicking back into gear but not sure what to say. Mouth stumbling over the sparse words his brain could summon. Nine… Nine deep breaths. Ten. "What if he throws me in Arkham?" Was what he finally choked out, weakly, and if he had any tears left in him right now he was sure he'd be crying. His eyes were burning.

Raven regarded him silently for a moment. Then, "You're twenty-five, Dick. He couldn't 'throw you in Arkham' if he  _ wanted _ to. Not without due cause, and not with me here." When she seemed to think he'd processed that bit, she continued, "But Dick, honey… I  _ really _ don't think he would try. You're his son and he loves and respects and  _ trusts _ you."

"But he― He put  _ Jason _ in Arkham for  _ anger issues _ ,"

"Jason was twelve and had proven his anger issues were a problem. And he went there for  _ therapy sessions only, _ remember?"

"But I'm  _ hallucinating _ and―"

His mind ground to a halt again, something cool and comforting settling in in place of the rapidly spiraling thoughts, soothing his worries and settling him into something quieter and more docile than his prior mental state. He knew, reasonably, that Raven was suppressing his panic for him and projecting a feeling of calm over it. He knew she was doing it solely for his own sake, as well. And with that cold, calm feeling, no paranoia that said otherwise could creep in.

He blinked.

"Get some rest," Raven told him, very gently, "And we'll try to work this out when you get up, okay?"

"... Okay," He agreed, then, "Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep. Please."

She nodded, releasing his shoulders and stepping back to give him space. "Of course."

The panic flooded back in, along with new paranoia and all the mental exhaustion that was already there. It made him shudder, then sort of half-stumble despite not having moved. He struggled to take a deep breath, then another, and another.

Focused on Raven, then his TV, then his phone on the bedside table, then his ancient Flying Graysons poster, and then his cover. Repeated the process with other things while he made himself breathe until his mind was sort of quiet. Not as quiet as he'd like, but sort of. He could stave off the panic for… Probably long enough to go to sleep. And with luck, some sleep would get him out of fight or flight well enough that he'd actually be able to consider things without, you know…

Freaking out.

He gathered his blanket up and tucked himself into bed. Wrapped himself up.

And Raven sat down on the edge of the bed, in reach if he needed her.

And, eventually, he fell asleep.

He dreamed vividly, as he usually did in times like these, and woke some time later still half-in his dream for the first few moments until reality settled in around him. The dream fell away softly, left to be forgotten as he spent more and more time conscious.

He slipped quietly out of bed, padding over to his bathroom. Scrubbed his face in the sink and swished some water around in his mouth.

Okay.

Okay, so, first off, he needed to talk to Raven.

So he needed to get dressed and  _ find _ Raven, first.

He got dressed and inched out of his room after checking his phone and finding it was roughly five in the afternoon. Distantly, he heard people laughing and generally making a ruckus. Sounded mostly like Jason and Roy.

Maybe Tim, too. Those three seemed to get on pretty well lately, which was… Which was good.

Even though Dick missed the days of he and Roy being friends all that long time ago, he… Well. Roy was probably better off with Jason and Tim, and Jason and Tim deserved a friend like Roy.

He shook the thoughts away and headed toward the sounds, since wherever Jason and Roy were, Tim probably was, and Tim would probably know where Raven was, if she wasn't, like, also there. He kind of hoped she wasn't.

Finding them in the enormous main living room, he found Jason and Roy playing a game on the old flat-screen TV Bruce had only put in here because Dick had begged him to some twelve years ago and hadn't ever bothered to replace afterwards. Tim was perched on the arm of the couch where they were sitting, watching the screen with a critical intensity he knew all too well. And Raven  _ was _ there, tucked up in an armchair reading a little ways away from them.

Seeing as they were all busy, he crept on past his brothers and one-time friend, over to Raven. She glanced up when he approached, then glanced pointedly toward the doorway as if to ask if he wanted to do this elsewhere. He nodded, and she stood.

They left, hopefully, without being noticed.

They ended up back in that sitting room.

"So," Raven began, "How are we feeling on the 'telling Bruce' subject?"

Straight to the point.

He didn't think he'd ever been so grateful to have someone be so straightforward about a subject he was uncomfortable with.

"Less panicky," He admitted, "But I'm still not totally on-board with the idea."

She nodded. "Understandable. Same reason?"

"Generally." He confirmed.

"You'll never know how he'll respond if you don't tell him," She advised, but without any edge, "And if he reacts badly, I'm here."

He considered it.

The paranoia was creeping up again, and he swallowed. She was right. He should probably mention this to Bruce. He'd never know how Bruce would take it if he didn't say anything.

"Alright." He said, "Alright, yeah, fine. Fuckit. Let's tell him."

"Okay."

And she ushered him out of the sitting room and up to Bruce's home office.

Telling Bruce was significantly more of a struggle than telling Raven, which he guessed was to be expected. He was significantly more concerned about Bruce's reaction than Raven's. He knew Raven would, at worst, be a little put off. Bruce, well…

But Bruce took the news… Surprisingly well. He didn't yell, didn't go cold either. He just listened and then was quiet for a long moment while Dick watched on and shuddered.

Finally, he asked, "Why didn't you ever tell me before?"

But he wasn't angry. There wasn't an accusation in his tone, or anything resembling some kind of entitled annoyance at not having been told at any prior point in time.

And that made Dick feel worse than if he had gotten mad―his cheeks burned with shame, eyes watering a little. He'd been worried about nothing. He'd read Bruce entirely wrong. He hadn't trusted Bruce enough to share this sort of information with him.

He swallowed, hard, looking away and sort of shuffling and struggling not to push his sleeves up and start rubbing his arms or scratching them.

"... I thought you might chuck me in Arkham and leave me there," He admitted, "Or kick me out."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Bruce blink. First in mild alarm, then in horror or at least something similar.

There was a second of silence.

"I. I wouldn't have," Bruce said, carefully, as he slowly stood from his desk, "But I… I  _ do _ understand how you could have come to that conclusion."

He walked around his desk, approaching carefully, and Dick turned mildly teary eyes on him to watch. He hesitated just outside of his personal space, giving him a good looking-at and drawing his brows together slightly.

"You seem ashamed," He said, as if he didn't quite understand why.

"I― I should have known better than―"

"No," Bruce cut him off, although he did so with an unusually gentle tone, "No, Dick,  _ I _ should have done better making sure you knew you could trust me with information like this. You had plenty of reasons to distrust me, I'm sure."

Oh.

Oh, there went the floodgates.

Dick ducked his head swiftly, shoving a hand over his mouth but not managing to cut off his sob. He saw, through a blur of tears, Bruce jerking in surprise and Raven almost mirroring the action.

He pressed his hand against his mouth harder, breath shaking in and out of him. Just being  _ listened to _ and having his concerns validated was― it was a lot. It was a lot in a lot of ways.

"Dick?" Bruce asked, voice full of concern.

And Dick didn't let himself stop to think.

He removed his hand from his mouth and jolted forward, closing the distance between he and Bruce and burying his face in his chest. And Bruce was still as a statue, at first, but when Dick wrapped his arms around him and knotted his shaking fingers into Bruce's blazer, the older man was quick to wrap his arms around him as well.

And that was it.

That did it.

He crashed  _ hard _ and sobbed his heart out into Bruce's chest even after the tears ran out because hole  _ shit,  _ Bruce hugging him felt so safe? Bruce hugging him felt… God.  _ God! _ He'd needed this for…

Fucksake, he'd needed this since Bruce took him in all those years ago.

And, eventually, when he was all cried out  _ and _ finally able to unknot his fingers from Bruce's blazer he slowly pulled away and Bruce let him go while he scrubbed at his face. Raven has left at some point while he was crying, clearly, and Bruce still seemed concerned.

"Sorry," Dick croaked, "I didn't know how much I needed to― to hear that. Or how bad I needed a hug."

Bruce's face turned to one of understanding instantly. And he sort of smiled just a little.

"Well, if you need another one…" And it almost came off as a gentle joke.

It got Dick to crack a smile.

"... Now," Bruce said, after a moment of comfortable silence, "I'm not at all going to try and force you… But I think an evaluation and some therapy and medication may do you some good. I can run a search for reputable, non-Arkham doctors if you need me to."

Dick probably would have started crying again, if he could have.

Instead, giving a shaky smile, he said, "That's probably not a bad idea."

**Author's Note:**

> So, by the way! If you're feeling the same way Dick and I do, please seek help! I know there's this stigma around seeking help and being seen as "weak" for it or whatever (lord knows I've experienced that, I understand), but your safety is important.
> 
> Please take care of yourselves y'all
> 
> You deserve to feel better
> 
> Anyways, Dick's symptoms here are primarily based on my own experience with paranoid schizophrenia and was written entirely for my own sake, so, while I am not at all saying this to be rude, I'm not taking tips or critiques on how it was portrayed. Everyone experiences mental illness differently and in different intensities. If you enjoyed it, though, I'm glad! Like, I just don't feel up to being told it's somehow inaccurate lmao


End file.
